


Good Thoughts

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-11
Updated: 1999-05-11
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A short, sweet (as in mushy) piece from Ray Vecchio's POV





	Good Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Good Thoughts

## Good Thoughts

by Valencia

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/7044/

* * *

<PRE>

Any comments, please mail to : Many thanks to Raa who helped a lot in the past/present tense grammer thingies Lastly, a little unashamed self-advertising here... anyone who would like to read my Sentinel slash, can do so at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Station/7044/ 

Good Thoughts  
by  
Valencia  
Copyright 1999 

I'm drunk. 

Wait, that doesn't make sense. How can a guy tell that he's drunk if he's still aware enough to realize he *is* drunk? 

...Christ, I've really been hanging around that Mountie too much. 

Let's start this again. 

I *think* I'm drunk. 

Not puke-your-guts out drunk though. Not yet anyway. That's more of my old man's style. He used to get so sloshed that it was like he'd swallowed an entire brewery or something - the stench of booze so strong that it oozed out from the pores of his skin. Instead of sweat, Pop would perspire whiskey. 

He would come home and then he would slap Ma around a little or a lot, depending on how many shots he had downed beforehand. When I got older, he didn't ease up any on Ma but he did start including me in his repertoire until, that is, I got smart and wised up. I would force Ma to take me and Frannie over to Aunt Maria's house, a few blocks away, whenever I knew Pa would come home drunk. I made sure we'd stay there well into the next day, when he was more or less sober. 

Ma never wanted to go to Aunt Maria's house. When I was a kid, I never understood why. I would see her crying quietly, in pain after one of Pa's rampages and had thought that she would be desperate to escape even if only for a few hours. It was only years later, and dozens of never-ending domestic violence cases I'd worked on as a cop, that I thought I began to make sense of Ma's reluctance. 

Ma was ashamed. Not of the fact that her husband was an alcoholic. She was ashamed because she couldn't gear up the courage to leave him after he hit her that first time. She was ashamed that she stayed even when her son started going to school with black-eyes and bruises on his arms and back. She was ashamed because that she wasn't strong enough to protect her own kids. 

Or kid in this case. I don't know if Ma would have finally left Pop if he had started in on Frannie. But I'll say that much for the bastard, he never laid a hand on my sister. 

My old man was what they called a mean drunk and I used to obsess over the question of what if his alcoholism was hereditary. That possibility, more than anything else, used to scare the shit out of me. To know that there might be a chance of turning out like him. 

Like father, like son. 

Of course I know now that's not possible. You don't inherit alcoholism but still, a part of me will probably never get rid of this irrational fear. The part of me that used to cringe whenever Pop swung his fist. 

I never gave him the satisfaction of seeing me cry no matter how the bruises showed up, as glaringly obvious as a neon sign, on my face the next day. God help me but I hated him. Hated him so bad because I loved him too at the same time. He hadn't always been like that. There had been some good memories. Was that how Ma felt? One of many other chains that bound her to him? 

Bad thoughts for a good day. 

I hiss in a breath through clenched teeth and look around the bar. At least, my friends seem to be having a good time. Elaine's flirting with another guy from Vice that I can't quite remember the name of. Madigan? Matheson? Benny would know if I asked him. He knows practically everyone in Chicago. 

The Lieutenant's regaling two wide-eyed rookies with tales of his Nam tours. If they actually believe that Welsh had single-handedly took out that camp of Viet-congs, then I got a bridge in Brooklyn I'll like to sell 'em. 

Huey's trying his luck with the pinball machine, furtively tilting the thing when he thinks no-one's looking. 

Everyone looks like they're having fun and so was I until I started thinking. About Pop. 

I'd rather be drunk. 

I can't seem to focus my thoughts anymore. The pleasantly fiery sensations that only good whiskey can produce had passed, leaving only tiredness. I feel as crumpled as my suit must be now, slouched as I am against the chair. 

I turn back to Benny as the room, so cheerful a minute ago, starts to close in on me. Both of us are sitting at a table near the corner of the room and there's only the two of us, alone. I can't remember what we were talking about earlier, before I got drunk. 

Unimportant stuff. You know, comfortable, normal everyday stuff. Frankly, it's amazing that Benny and me could just sit and chill-out after all the shit that's forever happening around and to us. 

"I'm going home." I say loudly to Benny over the noise and it comes out more tense than I expected - no slurring of words though and for which I'm grateful. 

"You leaving or staying?" I try again, my tone deliberately milder this time. 

Benny just nods slightly and for some reason, that really irritates me. 

"For chrissakes! Benny, is that a yes I'm staying or yes I'm going? Why can't you ever make up your mind? You do have one, don't you?" I shut my mouth abruptly the moment the last word left my lips. 

For that brief instant, I sounded exactly like my dad when he was pissed drunk. 

Like father, like son. 

A look of surprise comes over Benny's face then and the stupid Canadian actually started to apologize. 

"I'm sorry Ray. I meant that I'll be going with you." I shake my head to clear the growing numbness. "I'm..." I want to say I'm sorry for blowing up at him but instead I change it to, "I think I'm drunk Benny. You better take me home." 

And he does. We stand up and the room starts to spin like a demented carousel. I close my eyes and place both palms down on the table to get my balance. 

Okay, *now* I feel like puking. 

A word of advice, never drink on an empty stomach. I remember too late that the only thing I had to eat the whole day was a miserable pretzel. 

"Ray. You should have eaten something before imbibing large amounts of alcohol." Benny says, shaking his head at me in exactly the same way that Ma does it and with exactly that same disapproving tones, informing me what I already knew. 

Don't need another mother, Benny. Already got one. 

I growl out something that sounds vague even to me; most of my attention was focused on trying not to make a fool out of myself in front of my fellow law-enforcers. But I'm pretty sure the words 'Canucks', 'know-it-all' and 'smart-ass' were prominently featured. 

Benny slip one arm around my shoulder, supporting me. The desire to lean back against him was so strong but I just shrug him off roughly, indicating that I could walk by myself. 

I hear him sigh as I start walking...alright, alright, it was more of a wobbly stumble than walking. But I make it through the door with nothing more serious than a stubbed toe when I walk...excuse me, *stumble*, into a table. 

I step out of the smoky bar and out into the night air, breathing in deeply as I do. The night-air surrounds me and it feels like being suddenly dumped into a pool of floating ice. Unless you grew up in Chicago, don't even think about moving here. Winters in these parts are notorious and beyond the definition of cold. It's like the fucking Arctic during December and January. Wouldn't be surprised at all one day actually to see polar bears prancing in front of Bloomingdales like in that stupid Coke commercial. 

I sneeze before realizing belatedly that I forgot to bring my coat and scarf. It's night-time, the temperature's below zero, I'm standing ankle deep in snow and slush, the wind's peeling my ass off and here I am, in my only Hugo Boss suit, the one that I just bought. 

I sneeze again. 

"You forgot your coat, Ray." A patient voice tells me. 

I turn and it's, lo and behold, Benny to the rescue with my coat and scarf. 

He helps me put on the coat, holding it up as I push numb hands through the sleeves. 

I pull the edges of the coat together and stamp my feet hard, trying to get the blood running again. I don't know how Benny does it. He's standing there dressed only in jeans, sweater and leather jacket. 

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...Super-Mountie. 

The only concession he makes to the winter chill is that pair of gloves he's got on, the one I gave him for Christmas. 

I stare at him, bizarre thoughts running inside my head like a scared lab rat, while he winds the scarf around my neck, tucking the edges securely inside my coat. 

"Why are...?" I trail off into an indistinct mutter, not sure how to put my feelings into words. I just know that if I don't get it off my chest, it'll suffocate me until there's no air left to breathe and I'll keel over of a heart attack just like that. 

Benny merely looks puzzled at my unfinished question. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks me. 

I struggle awkwardly over my next words, afraid to ask but needing to know. I need to know so bad that it's starting to hurt. 

"Why do you always give in to me? Why don't you ever get mad at me when I'm being an asshole? I mean, like just now, inside the bar...Benny, why?" I take a deep breath, searing my nostrils with the biting coldness of the air. "Why do you love me?" There, it's out. 

Benny didn't answer immediately and I couldn't make out his expression. It's too dark. 

I change the subject quickly, already feeling that I've jinxed something just by talking about it. "Forget it. Just forget it, it was a stupid thing to ask. C'mon, I'll drive you home." I tuck my hands inside the coat pockets and I begin to walk. I don't know if he's following me and I'm too chicken to find out. 

I wake up sometimes, in the middle of the night, and actually start to wonder what Benny sees in me. Like some stupid pimply teenager from high-school agonizing over why the prettiest girl in school has agreed to be his date for the prom. Maybe it was just a cruel joke or a freak of nature that might one day right itself and then the girl would finally come to her senses and tell the teenager to vamoose. The senior prom? With *you*? Get real. Which planet are you from? 

What do you mean Benton Fraser is in love with Ray Vecchio? Are you insane? No way in hell this could happen. No way in fucking hell. 

I fumble for the keys and just when I am about to open the car-door, hands shoot out from behind me to grab my shoulders and spin me around to face...Benny. Of course. Who else could it have been? 

"Ray..." he begins but I cut him off. Funny how you're always most afraid of what you most want to hear. Talk about the perversity of human nature. 

"It's okay, Benny, you don't have to, you know, explain or anything. And I won't blame you if you had second thoughts about...us." I say hurriedly. 

Until today, I still don't know how me, Italian and Catholic, and the world's straightest Mountie stumbled into a relationship. It would be funny if it weren't so damn ridiculous. But it also had felt so right which was why I never had the guts to ask Benny why? Why me? 

Just like I never had the guts to stand up to my old man. I've always run away. And now here I am doing the same thing. 

I try to break free of Benny's hands but the guy's clinging to me tighter than a leech. 

"Benny, we're freezing our asses out here. Get in the car before they find us here tomorrow morning frozen like a pair of fish-sticks! I don't know about you but actual icicles are forming in my hair." By the way, I'm not babbling. I'm just talking...really fast. 

"Ray." 

"What? My hands are numb, I can't feel them. Where the fuck are my gloves? I had them somewh--" 

"Shut up." 

I blink. 

Benny leans in and kisses me on the mouth. His lips are cool but so are mine. 

Shit, how the hell does he do it? A simple kiss and I'm putty. 

Breaking the kiss, he draws back and scrutinizes me so hard that it's making me uncomfortable. A blind man's glare is less intense than Benny's at that moment. It's like he can see into me - everything I'm feeling inside, my thoughts, my fears - is now lying bare before those blue eyes. 

Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are? Probably not because I'll sound like a total sap if I ever do say it out loud. But it's true all the same. 

"I'm sorry I yelled at you at the bar." I apologize hesitantly. 

"That's quite alright, Ray. No offense taken." Benny's smile could melt the snow that's starting to fall all around us. "Ask me again why I love you." 

I clear my throat, feeling stupid but I ask. "Why do you love me?" So cold but it's warm in Benny's arms. 

"I don't know." 

"Huh? Say what? You don't *know*?" Well, that's a big help. I feel so much more reassured already. Thanks a lot, Benton Fraser. 

"No Ray, I don't." He smiles slightly again. "I don't know why but I just know that I do love you. Very much so, in fact." 

Jeez...how *does* he do it! 

"Oh. Uh, okay. That's good. That's really great..." I'm not sure how to reply to such a blatant declaration of love returned but I do the best I can. 

Benny kisses me again, stopping my flow of inane words. He's a damn good kisser, bet you didn't know that, did you? I feel like I'm drunk again even though the effects of the whiskey has completely disappeared from my mind and body. But it's the same kind of fire, exhilaration and euphoria, only better. Way better. 

I could get high on just kissing him. 

I love you too. And even if I never tell you that, I think you already know. Don't you, Benny? 

The kiss ends and he holds me so tightly that I can't breathe. 

"C'mon Benny." I whisper at last. "I think I had a little too much to drink. You better drive us home." 

End 

</PRE>


End file.
